


his smile, like mine

by drifting_i



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Gen, Implied Relationships, my condolences to anyone who's had at least one of the Miyas on their team. hang in there, they're both the evil twin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:08:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28367400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drifting_i/pseuds/drifting_i
Summary: Still, Atsumu knows his brother. It’s hard to tell, cause Osamu’s made out of steel while Atsumu is built out of glass, so it’s harder to spot the cracks (or anything, really), but they’re made in the same shape after all.or:the twins, through the years.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu
Comments: 5
Kudos: 125





	his smile, like mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [l_moongod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/l_moongod/gifts).



> Osamu Is the eldest and this is the hill I will die on.

Practice that day is calm. Too calm. Aran is suspicious. 

He's in charge of taking down the net while the younger boys clean the floor, he's careful to get out of the way and not step where it’s been mopped. Most of the kids from his grade have already left, better experienced at picking up so they go off to lunch faster. He wants to hurry and join them, he’s starving. 

Aran carefully folds the net with the help of his teammate who then volunteers him to go and place it back in the supply closet before he can even argue. Rude. It’s just him, the twins and three other boys at that point. 

The dam breaks when Atsumu steps out of the closet after putting back his mop and smugly waves his brother goodbye. Osamu glares at him, arms still full of supplies that need returning. 

As soon as Atsumu walks through the door, one of the boys huffs. Here we go. 

“Ugh, I don’t even want to go eat if he’s gonna be there,” he says, arranging the stuff in their designated shelves. 

“I know,” another guy groans. “It’s like the second day of camp and he’s already bossing everyone around.” 

Aran tries to pick up the pace. 

“I wouldn’t care if he was bossy, whatever, most upperclassmen are, but why does he gotta yell at us when we mess up as if he’s the coach?”

“Exactly!” The boy agrees. “He’s still our teammate, it’s not like he’s any better than us.” 

As he zips up the bag, Aran catches a glimpse of Osamu, who is quietly and violently slamming things in drawers. 

“I get that he’s a good setter,” the third guy joins in. “But he’s not that great, I think he yells so much so we won’t see how he actually isn’t even that skilled.”

Osamu slams a drawer shut so hard the boys flinch. He’s on the third guy so fast Aran can’t even blink. It’s a blur of limbs, panicked and enraged screams as they both go down hard. 

Aran realizes that, damn, if he doesn’t step in Osamu is going against three by himself. The other two boys have started reacting to help their friend by also jumping into the fray. 

Even being a good head and shoulders taller than Osamu the guy is _vicious_ , getting him off the others is like trying to wrestle a cat into submission. He’s sure that the three kids only stay away instead of jumping back now that Aran’s got Osamu held down because he practically yells at them to. Their faces seem to realize that, right he’s their upperclassman and he saw the whole thing. 

Osamu struggles like crazy and actually manages to escape his improvised hold twice before Aran’s saved from the world's worst wrestling match by one of the assistant coaches running in and demanding an explanation very loudly. 

-

“So what am I supposed to do while ya run laps all day?” 

“‘S not all day, just a hundred.”

“Useless, you were supposed to help me practice that pass today.” 

“Practice with someone else. Oh right, no one can stand you.” 

“So? At least I get to go inside the gym with sweet, wonderful air conditioner.” 

“Ugh.”

“At least tell meee! Was it even worth it? What was that fight even about?”

“You know, nonof.” 

“Nonof?” 

“None of your business.” 

“HEY! Break it off you two! Atsumu! Do you want to run laps with your brother?!” 

-

Atsumu should brush it off, probably. But he knows he wouldn’t be able even if he tried to. 

It’s just annoying. Annoying and incredibly ignorant, that anyone would even dare to compare his sets with Osamu’s. It’s like comparing bag mix cake to a homemade one. And then actually preferring the shitty cake. Clearly, no taste. 

He understands (in theory) that changing setters in any team ought to have an adjustment period. Still, he’s good enough that it shouldn’t be needed. ‘Can you set the A quick like Osamu did?’ The nerve. 

He should brush it off. But it’s obvious why he can’t, not like he’d ever admit it. 

Osamu is lazy. He cuts corners, only makes an effort if it will result in him making less of an effort at something and lies about it saying he’s ‘saving stamina’, right. 

So why is he as good (if not more) as Atsumu. 

Who trains until he can’t, and always goes further than almost anyone. And yet. He knows that they both are seen as freaks of nature, but he’s wondered if there’s levels of genius in it. If they’re both monsters, but Osamu is just a bit more so than he is. 

He dwells in that for a second. Then actually manages to brush it off. 

It’s not like it matters, if anything that only makes him more impressive. His will goes further than Osamu’s natural talent. 

He’s gonna win with just that. 

-

“Please, I’m actually begging you at this point.” 

“Not until you finish the pathetically easy problem. Correctly.” 

“How do you want me to study while I’m starving!”

“Cause it’s the only thing that motivates you, you damn dog.”

“Sumu.”

“What if you fail the entrance exam like you did most of your finals, huh?”

“Half of my finals…”

“Which high school would you even go to then?”

“Thinking consumes energy!” 

“Wow you’re actually thinking? Okay, sorry I didn’t think that was possi- Ah! Samu! Mom!” 

-

It’s not fair, really. Nothing is ever his alone. 

First his birthday, then every piece of clothing for the last fifteen years, then his favorite sport and now his crush? Do they have to share every single little thing?

He huffs and rolls his eyes at seeing the absolute liar, oh so casually offering Kita part of his lunch. Osamu’s on his (completely fake) best behavior, neatly sitting at the bottom of the staircase where Kita always refills his water bottle, by total coincidence. 

“I just made too much,” he _lies._

“Oh, you prepared this?” Kita tilts his head and shifts his stance. 

“Yeah…” Osamu wavers under his sudden complete attention. “I normally help with meals.” 

Kita nods. “Me, too. Since I was young.” 

Atsumu fumes in silence as they _share a lunch_. It’s unfair for so many reasons. Osamu’s got an advantage just for knowing how to cook? If only Kita were slightly more impressed by the nation’s best setting skills, they could be even, but no. He just has to be objective and hard to surprise and thoughtful, so thoughtful that he actually notices the fact that Atsumu is just the result of his efforts and appreciates him for that and god fucking damn it. He’s still no match for a bento. 

He’s aware he’s glaring and he can hear Suna snickering behind him. He stands up from his non stalkery corner and kicks closer one of the volleyballs. Suna curses at him as he’s hit dead on with a perfect spike to his side. 

Atsumu doesn’t get to dodge the returning ball, damn Suna and his freaky body. 

He returns his attention to the least flirtatious conversation in high school history. Kita is commenting on what Atsumu guesses are recipes while Osamu nods, captivated. He’s losing to _that_ , he could cry. 

Still, Atsumu knows his brother. He’s an intense eye contact moment with Kita away from collapsing. It’s hard to tell, cause Osamu’s made out of steel while Atsumu is built out of glass, so it’s harder to spot the cracks (or anything, really), but they’re made in the same shape after all. 

He looks at him, head resting on his fist over his bent knee, to untrained eyes he looks relaxed, but Atsumu knows. He’s too still and it’s like he has to remind himself to blink. He nods a beat too late to what the conversation requires, Osamu chews on the inside of his lip like crazy. 

Sad. 

Still sadder that Atsumu is envious of that. Pathetic. He sighs deeply. Aran glances at him, calculating. He doesn’t ask, so he must decide the display wasn’t dramatic enough to grant his attention. Atsumu frowns, tempted to throw a fit that will make him care. But he doesn’t. 

Coach calls them back, lunch’s over. Atsumu stands up, ball in his hands. 

He watches Kita do the same, Osamu a second behind. He goes on ahead while his brother ties his shoelace. Atsumu aims and- dead on. 

“The fuck was that for?” Osamu asks, indignant, as if he didn’t know. 

Atsumu doesn’t reply, turning on his heel and walking back into the gym. Keeping an eye out for- he dodges the throw easily. Osamu’s annoyance only grows. He gives it up, flipping Atsumu off and rushing ahead, probably to lock the doors so Atsumu has to walk to the side entrance. Asshole. 

Later, when everyone’s tired by the last of practice, Atsumu catches sight of them again. 

Osamu’s no longer tense like a bowstring, just starving and aching, relaxed. Kita seems as unbothered as always. Osamu says something Atsumu doesn’t catch, Kita huffs in a way that could be a laugh, if you squint and maybe turn in a certain angle. Osamu gives the most unnoticeable smile, leaning back slightly and continuing to listen quietly. 

This is the real reason why it’s so unfair. 

Osamu and Kita just fit. In their way, the quiet is more natural than any conversation, in the manner they use their effort (Osamu, scarcely until he cares. Kita, like it’s his only resource.) In their slightly detached behavior, most things are kept at arm’s length.

And Atsumu might just be a little too much for that. 

He shakes his head, silently resigned. 

Still, he’s sure Kita would have more fun with him. 

-

“I’m back!” 

“There goes my peace of mind.” 

“Seriously?! You don’t see me in a week and that’s the first thing you say to me? Didn’t you miss me?!”

“Did _you_ miss me?”

“...no.” 

“Exactly, Sumu.” 

“Ugh, I’m tired and hungry. Make me something.”

“Make it yourself.” 

“Fine!”

“Hey, Samu?”

“What.”

“Whose plate is this, on the stove?”

“...yours.”

“Oh.”

“Thanks.”

“Splash a little water before heating it up.” 

“Oh, man. To be a national training camp, they sure had dryass rice.” 

“Agh.”

“Yeah!” 

“Get your stinking feet off me.” 

“So, did you clear that level while I was gone?”

“Nah.”

“But you were so sure you had it! Could you not do it without my expertise?”

“You died seven times.” 

“Shut up. Seriously- wait, did you wait for me?”

“Awh, Samu.” 

“Suddup and pah me eh controller.” 

“You said that was my plate!” 

-

“Okay what’s your problem?” 

Atsumu sits up, frowning. “What’s yours?”

“I’m serious. You’ve been… off since the camp.” Osamu glares at him. After he returned, Astumu’s been… too still, and quiet. Like he’s thinking too much about something. Which is alarming, and while Osamu welcomed the peace and the lack of noise, he’s beginning to worry. For himself. It’s never good when Atsumu thinks too hard about something. 

“What? No? I haven’t been anything-” As he stammers through his lies Osamu blinks, and yes, slowly but surely, a blush creeps up his brother's neck and over his cheekbones. Oh, great. 

“I don’t know, it just seems like you’re thinking about something-” Osamu shrugs. “-or someone.” 

Atsumu stands up so violently that he forgets he’s on the bottom of a bunk bed and nearly knocks himself unconscious. 

He swears at him, kicking at his shins while Osamu tries to keep himself from crying, his ribs hurt from laughing so hard. 

“It’s too easy,” Osamu wheezes. 

“Killing you will be easier,” Atsumu growls. 

Still, this is a surprising turn. Leave it to Atsumu to go in the training opportunity of a lifetime and bring back someone new to moon over. 

Now that he’s been caught, it’s like he overflows. 

“He’s so good, could be too good if he set his mind to it, but he’s kind of boring. Plays it safe way too much, he’s almost as good as me, and with those skills he could make anyone do what he wants but he just… doesn’t? He’s really pretty, in an anger issues kind of way. I wanna see him break you know, I was talking him up but he’s so cold, it just makes me wanna burn him.” 

“Oh, shit you tried to talk to him?” Osamu feels so sorry for whoever that is. 

“Uh, yeah? You know people actually act on their crushes instead of pathetically repressing everything, right?” 

Osamu can’t even retort to that, he’s more second hand concerned with how Atsumu totally ruined his chances with that guy. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know what happened yet, he just _knows_. 

“What did you say to him?” 

Atsumu blinks. “Why do you care?”

“ _What_ did you say to him?” 

“You know, I was just flirting? Oh, right, you wouldn’t know, ha. Well, I complimented how good of a setter he is, told him he was boring. But like I said, he’s just closed off.” 

Osamu sighs deeply. 

“You told him he was a boring setter,” Osamu repeats back in the useless hope that maybe if he hears it out Atsumu will recognize how much of a fuck up he is. 

“I was teasing,” Atsumu clarifies as if he’s stupid. 

“How did he take it, then?” 

“Don’t know, he’s kinda hard to read.” 

Osamu can’t bring himself to care enough to put him out of his delusion. 

“He’s cute when he wants,” Atsmu continues. “He’s just so good it drives me crazy, kind of a waste.” 

This is how he talks about people he actually likes. 

“You know I didn’t ask right? I was just trying to annoy you.” Osamu points out. 

“Yeah, but I’m gonna make you regret it. His eyes are so blue and-” Astumu leans back against the bed, getting comfortable for his non stop talking. 

“I’m tired of you, I’m going for a run.” 

“You’re so damn rude!” 

-

“Kageyema’s the worst.” 

“HUH?” 

“If you two don’t shut up this second I’ll smother you both. We’re trying to sleep.” 

“Take it to the hallway, both of you.” 

“Sorry.” “Sorry.” 

“Okay, now. What the fuck did you just say?”

“Don’t even, I can’t lift my arms enough to punch you.” 

“Don’t start running your mouth if you can’t follow up, Samu. That is basic knowledge.”

“I meant it as a compliment.” 

“You might want to check your definition of compliment.” 

“He’s… worse than you are.” 

“...Yeah. I know.” 

“No need to sound so dreamy about it. Gross.” 

“I’m not as weak as you, I can still deck you.” 

“That damn power struggle during the match. You finally found someone who can stand you, huh?” 

“Even better... I found someone who can step up to me.” 

“Now I feel sorry for him.” 

-

Atsumu rolls his eyes at the sight that greets him from the kitchen. At first it was funny, now it’s just annoying. 

“Y’know he’s not dead,” Atsumu says, dumping his bag on the chair next to Osamu’s pitiful frame. “He graduated, he didn’t get run over.” 

“Not in the mood, Sumu,” Osamu replies in his ‘fuck off before I make you’ tone. The words come muffled, his face resting on the table. 

Atsumu frowns, rolls his eyes again. Then checks the time. Unacceptable. 

He wants to say a smart comment, like ‘what would Kita say?’ but he’d probably get his teeth punched out, and wouldn’t that be a fun thing to explain to their mother. Again. 

He goes to change out of his uniform. Before barging into the kitchen, his quote ‘shitty ass music’ blasting from his cheap cell phone speakers, cause Astumu cannot do chores silently. It’s physically impossible. 

It’s telling that Osamu doesn’t yell at him to shut it off. 

Atsumu clatters around the fridge and the drawers, wondering why every time he tries to find anything in the kitchen it’s in a different place. Between his mother and Osamu, the cupboard is no man’s land. 

They fight over the place of certain pans like thrice a month. Yet the only one who can never locate them is him. 

He goes through all the steps, singing as obnoxiously as possible. 

Atsumu uses different spoons each time to test the flavor, because unlike his brother, he’s not an animal who just licks the utensils _multiple times_. He tosses them in the sink for Osamu to wash later, ha. 

He plays with the heat, cause while he knows that things take time to cook, he wasn’t born with the patience. He only has to scrap a fourth of the dish into the trash. 

He sets a plate in front of Osamu who finally looks up from the table. 

He blinks, then sits up as if shocked. 

Atsumu hands him a pair of chopsticks, Osamu practically snatches them from his hands. 

“You’re welcome,” Atsumu huffs, sitting opposite to him, in front of his own plate.

It’s Atsumu’s personal favorite, cause if he’s gonna cook he better get something good out of it. Besides, Osamu doesn’t have a favorite. 

Unwillingly he watches for his brother’s reaction. 

Osamu notices, he slows down to say, “It needs more salt.” 

“Oh, shut up!” 

-

“Tomorrow.”

“What about it?”

“I’m gonna make you regret it.”

“Ugh, this again?”

“I’m gonna make sure we win it all. You’ll be chasing that high for the rest of our lives.” 

“Atsumu, I just want to sleep.” 

“‘Kay, goodnight.” 

-

One, two, three rounds, quarter finals. 

This, right now. There’s only one place to go further. 

Suna doesn’t get nervous, or he hasn’t in a long time. He’s not sure the electricity in the court is his own perception. It’s possible he’s standing next to live wiring. 

There are no relaxed games here, the last round to have one was days ago. Suna is still sharp, focused and pulled as tight as he goes. But it’s, like, he’s doing his part but nothing more. He glances to his left, then his right. By the last half of the fourth set, he’s expecting them to be a little less… charged. 

The twins look ahead, eyes not leaving the ball even when the other team is barely about to serve. It’s a quiet day, which is what Aran used to call the times where the twins were silently building up trouble. 

There are no jokes, no teasing, no arguments, no screaming matches. Yet, it’s impossible they’re somehow fighting again. Suna’s gotten used to it over the last three years, but when he’s standing on the sidelines, waiting to go back in, he can hear the first years marveling out loud at Inarizaki’s best weapon. 

Singular. 

Atsumu, as always, trying to command the court. All of it, the opposing team struggling not to move as he dictates. Osamu, appearing from behind him, the second there’s a minimal slip from his twin. Almost an extension of each other, yet so distinctly deadly in their own way. 

Despite themselves, he’s aware that all of them in their third year are looking at this game through different eyes from the rest of the team. Osamu and Atsumu, on the other hand, are looking at it like the last and greatest opportunity to outdo each other. 

Suna almost rolls his eyes. Leave it to the twins to take a match in fucking nationals and make it their personal game of ‘Who Is Better At Every Little Thing?’ 

He could almost be annoyed. After all these are not his last official games, but they are Osamu’s. 

It’s been building up since they arrived the first day, now they’re going off in their characteristically obnoxious way, 

Every time Atsumu gets a service ace, Osamu has to get an untouchable spike in. They’re constantly trying to do faster quicks and if Osamu gets a one-touch off the opposing spiker, Atsumu has to stuff the next one. 

Osamu gets three points of serving alone, and Suna isn’t sure Atsumu lets the other team score just to cut him off. 

The fifth set goes by so fast, Suna wonders why he was even rationing his energy. They’re out of the competition and it’s over. 

The whistle blows. He’s swept up by the cheer and the victory cries of the opposite stands. He can’t stop laughing, because what a thing to be runner ups every single year which makes a stark contrast to Riseki’s loud sobbing. He’s nearly tackled by Kosaku and Ginjima.

But it’s nothing compared to the two others, who collapse next to each other so swiftly Suna thinks they might’ve passed out.

The rest of the team drag them over to the group pile. Suna hesitates a bit before clapping Osamu hard in the back, he can almost see a bit of smoke coming off him. He meets his eyes for a bit and Suna grins at him, Osamu is still reeling, he can see in his look that he doesn’t quite believe it’s over. 

When it sinks in, he can see him inhale sharply before pulling him and Kosaku into a hug so tight it squeezes out all the air from his already tortured lungs. Kosaku is somehow crying even harder. 

Atsumu, never wanting to be left out of everything, jumps at them like he wasn’t nearly two meters of lean muscle and Suna says goodbye to his ability to stand for the next few hours. 

After everything is over, after the speeches and the thank you’s. After the previous third years come down from the stands and Osamu becomes an unmoving pile at Kita’s feet and Karasuno’s setter and middle blocker of all people come to let Atsumu brag to their faces about making it further than them. Suna, spread out as far as possible, unmoving and content in the back of the bus, hears them bicker. 

“I’ve watched it all again and I can confirm with recorded proof that I scored twenty four points,” Atsumu declares. 

“That’s nearly a whole set,” Osamu replies after a beat. The sounds pained and distressed. 

“Exactly,” Atsumu replies smugly.

“Nearly,” Osamu repeats, then drops the pitiful tone. “But not quite. I scored twenty six.” 

And then, for effect. 

“Bitch.” 

Atsumu is quiet for a second. 

“...No way.” 

“Watch it again,” Osamu instructs, shrugging as if he didn’t care. “If you’re able to focus on something that isn’t you during the video, you’ll see.” 

Astumu curses creatively until he runs out of ideas. Then he swears at him in a lot of ways that don’t make sense. 

A whole rewatch later, he curses some more. 

-

“Hi!” 

“You’re late.”

“I’m fine, thank you, Samu. The trip was great, totally not a waste of a Saturday.” 

“Where even are you?”

“In the back, behind the third tower of boxes.” 

“Man, this place is a maze. Looks smaller than in the pictures, too.” 

“Hey, great, pass me that extension over the red plastic sheet.” 

“Here.”

“Step there.” 

“Okay, hold this still, I’ll get the drill.” 

“Like this?” 

“Yeah.” 

“...wait.”

“Wait! Did you invite me here for free labor?”

“What? Did you think I actually wanted to see you.” 

“Every time I think you can’t fall lower.” 

“I’m just following after you, Sumu.” 

“Listen, if we finish setting up the kitchen today I’ll make us lunch.”

“Okay, but only for the free lunch.”

“Who fucking said it was free?”

“Are you serious? I’m your brother!”

“I’ll give you a discount.” 

-

Osamu’s world tips sideways, then settles. Damn. 

He slips forwards slightly, focuses on the table in front of him, then let’s the voices around him flow over him. 

“-want to slow down a bit,” Aran suggests with a laugh. 

“You’re not the boss of me,” Astumu slurs, all smiles and no usual bite. “Besides, we’re gonna be just fine, Omiomi is driving.” 

“Yes,” Sakusa confirms. “I’m driving myself back home, the rest of you can call a cab.” 

“So stingy,” Hinata mutters, face squished against his fist as he sways slightly in place. 

“Yes, Omiomi, where’s your team spirit?” Bokuto questions, voice a few bells over his usual tone. His question is nearly deafening. 

“Osamu, you good?” Someone asks. Aran asks him. Right, Aran, a question requires an answer. 

Osamu gives him a thumbs up, that’s answer enough. 

“Oookay,” Aran says and fast as lightning (although he’s barely moving) snatches up his glass. 

“Hey!” Osamu half heartedly tries. He’s tilting too much to put his back into it. Aran intercepts his hand easily.

“Why are you so smashed already?” Atsumu kicks him under the table. 

“Cause it’s your treat,” Osamu admits before he can lie. 

“I invite you to our celebration and you abuse my trust and-” 

“And your wallet.” 

“And my wallet!” 

Bokuto laughs and smacks Osamu in the back, the whiplash is almost enough to break his neck. 

“At least he’s not as gone as Kageyama,” Hinata points out. 

The drooling setter draped over Atsumu’s shoulder doesn’t react to his name being called. 

“He can do what he wants,” Atsumu states. “Also he’s a lightweight so it’s not that much money.” 

“Another toast!” Osamu says in an effort to get his glass back while they're distracted, “To you all making the Olympic team.” 

Aran sees what he’s doing, but Bokuto, Hinata and even Atsumu have raised their glasses. He sighs and hands Osamu’s back to him. 

Later, as the bill is being paid by a flinching and grimacing Atsumu, Hinata asks.

“Who's gonna carry him?” He points at Kageyema. 

Atsumu turns to Aran, all sweet eyes and shy smile, “Oh, my strong, kind and handsome friend-”

“Nope, that boy is your problem, Atsumu. I’ve got the non-evil twin, he can at least walk.” 

“I’m the nice twin?” Osamu says, touched.

“You’re the least evil one,” Aran replies, hauling him to his feet. “That doesn’t mean nice.” 

They pour out of the booth like sacks of rice dropping onto the floor. Aran wraps his hand around his waist and pulls one of his arms around his shoulders. He snickers at the sight his brother makes while trying to get his passed out teammate out of the booth. 

“Why did Ushijima have to leave so early?” He groans, tugging at Kageyama’s arms. “Shouyo-” 

“Sorry, Atsumu, my cab is here!”

“There are no cars outside! Hey!” 

Bokuto, being a better person than all of them, doesn’t have to be asked. He picks up Kagayema like he weighs less than his jacket, draping him over his shoulder as they exit the bar. He even stops to tip the waiter while carrying the nation’s number one setter over his back like a scarf. 

Sakusa, furiously, in the end agrees to drive them home. 

Aran helps him into the back of the car. He’s then squished against the window by Bokuto’s massive frame, while Aran claims the front seat. Kageyama’s body (Osamu’s pretty sure his soul is elsewhere) joins them soon after. Atsumu manages to squeeze in just barely, and whether he likes it or not, Hinata is still the shortest, so he has to ride on Atsumu’s legs.

“Shouyo what on earth do you eat?” 

Hinata smiles sheepishly. 

“No. I can’t take it, His thighs weigh more than Kageyama did.” 

Atsumu ends up sitting on Hinata’s lap, who seems perfectly unbothered. Osamu laughs at him like a child.

“Having fun, Samu?” Atsumu growls.

“A lot,” Osamu admits.

Something shifts in his brother’s eyes. “Oh… you’re trashed. You’re drunkenly honest.” 

“No, I’m not,” Osamu says, hiding behind Bokuto’s bicep. 

“You totally are! Quick! Aran, ask him something.” 

Aran glances back at them, amused. “Did Atsumu have a crush on me when you were first years?”

Atsumu starts yelling something but Osamu interrupts. “The biggest crush, you were his first one, actually.” 

Atsumu kicks the copilot's seat so hard Aran is shoved forwards, not like that makes him stop laughing. 

“Hey!” Sakusa yells.

“How dare you take this and use it against me?!” Atsumu yells back, ignoring him. He turns towards him again, shifting on top of Hinata. “Samu, what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

There’s no point resisting. 

“Once during a run, a girl mistook me for you and I charged her for a picture.” 

The whole car erupts in laughter so loudly that Kageyama startles awake. 

◑◐

Atsumu sits on the last table, discreetly hidden behind an apron and one of the restaurant’s caps. He eats contently, watching the clients come and go. He’s even willing to do some dishes after he’s done, enjoying the repetitive movement only because he knows he’s gonna get free dinner out of it. It’s a rare day off and he’s spending it as cheap labor. Atsumu should be more annoyed at that. 

He gets in the way of preparation until Osamu kicks him out of the kitchen, by which point he’s already taken more mouthfuls of rice out of the table. 

He works the counter after that, Osamu’s usual clients blinking up at him. Perplexed but unable to realize why. It’s amusing enough to keep doing it until closing. 

It’s a little earlier than usual, but Osamu flips the sign on the door and rushes back into the kitchen. Instead of looking tired from a hard day’s work he looks eager, impatient. It’s delivery day. 

Little after an hour later, the shop has been cleaned to a shining and Atsumu’s arms hurt from scrubbing tables. His arms. Hurt. His national level muscles ache. He silently wonders how Osamu does it. 

The rest of the employees nod their goodbyes at him and it’s the two of them alone until Osamu goes and opens the back entrance. 

“-is what the cart is for, you don’t have to carry it all in yourself,” comes Kita’s voice from the back. Atsumu feels himself smiling. 

He steps into the kitchen once more, leaning against the doorway as he watches his brother unload what’s probably a ton of rice from the truck. He rolls his eyes at him, who is he trying to impress.

Kita blinks once he notices Atsumu and waves at him with a small smile. Oh, right. 

He goes to steal his attention, jumping around Kita while Osamu’s busy. He congratulates him on his last game, asks about Aran and Suna, and miraculously agrees with him when Atsumu proposes a high school reunion. Cause he’s been turned into a total nostalgic over the course of the day and seeing Kita was the last drop. 

“Samu can cater,” Atsumu declares. “He’ll do it for free.” 

“Like hell I will,” Osamu mutters from behind a sack of rice. 

Kita huffs what could be a laugh, looking fondly over to an oblivious Osamu. 

They convince him to stay for dinner, and in those moments, when Atsumu is eating his brother’s cooking for the third time that day, he listens to them talk, a little sidelined but not really minding it this time. 

He watches as his brother smiles, leaning over the counter, head resting against his fist while he smiles at something Kita says. Looking perfectly at peace and happy, that Atsumu recalls a certain conversation (screaming match), and he realizes that there’s only one competition he wouldn’t mind losing against Osamu. 

**Author's Note:**

> Merry late Christmas!!


End file.
